from Canada twenty years ago, with the addition of a whole package of rose and heliotrope sachet which Mrs. Sparks had shaken generously underneath the blue waves.
It was equipped like the Canadian work-box too. Silently, fora moment Sheilah gazed upon the array before her. There were rows of needle-books of every size. There were bodkins; there were stilettos; there were crochet-hooks; there were knitting-needles; there were carpet needles; there were curious scythe-like-shaped needles.
Sheilah said finally, 'I don't believe there's a thing I shall ever want but what's here,' wondering the while in her heart if there was a thing there she would ever want. 'Who helped you, Felix? Who got all the things?'
He told her. In her mind's eye she saw him slinking into various dry-goods shops, standing, big and awkward and clumsy, before various shopgirls, courageously inquiring for pink darning cotton, blue celluloid thimbles, knitting-needles, and crochet-hooks. Another girl would have felt only a desire to laugh, perhaps. Peggy could have made a delicious story out of it afterwards, no doubt. But not Sheilah. Compassion alone possessed her.
Felix showed her the work-bench later, all beautifully brushed and neat for her inspection. She handled the tools. She stood beside him and tried cutting a thin strip of orange wood herself.
